


Unspoken rules

by Charlie_Quinn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Gen, Homophobia, Minor Violence, mentions of abuse, this made me sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25249669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_Quinn/pseuds/Charlie_Quinn
Summary: A five year old Harry wonders why he doesn’t have a mum or dad.
Kudos: 10





	Unspoken rules

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite sad. Any grammar or spelling mistakes are me being dumb. Enjoy!

Most children learn about death when a pet dies or a far distant relative. Harry learnt about death when he was five. 

At five years old Harry had little priorities. He knew by now that in the Dursley house he had to stay quiet and do exactly as he was told. He would let Dudley punch him and he mustn’t cry. He kept his cupboard tidy and didn’t dare touch any of Dudleys toys. Most of all he mustn’t ask questions. 

But he had an incessant urge to ask questions. He wanted to know why he shouldn’t cry, why he didn’t have any toys and most of all why he didn’t have a mum and dad. 

Dudley has a mum and dad. He had Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, but when Harry had called Petunia mum once purely by accident she had gone white and muttered that she was his Aunt and he must remember. She had told him he definitely can’t say that in front of Vernon. 

This wasn’t a surprise, Harry couldn’t say a lot of things in front of his uncle. He couldn’t say he sometimes made crayons fly, or that none of the other children slept in cupboards. He definitely couldn’t mention that he has seen the purple bruises on his aunts wrists and chest. When he had pointed them out his aunt had smacked his cheek and told him to never say that again. He decided he wouldn't think about it. Things where generally solved in the Dursley house by the simple task of ignorance. 

It didn’t make sense in his mind. Dudley punched him and he didn’t cry, Vernon didn’t want to know about the bruises and Harry didn’t have a mum and dad. 

Other children at school had parents. Oliver Emmets mum and dad hugged him at the pick up point and bought home-made cakes for the bake sale. Christie Spratt had a rich dad and a sad mum who only picked her up once and had red rimmed eyes. David Hafock had a mum and dad but they were always doing business, he was picked up by his governess. Mathilda Durren had even had two mums. But when she told everyone that she had left school the next day with a black eye and a word written on her forehead that began with F and was smudged in an attempt to remove it. Harry still remembered how red and puffy Mathildas face had been, and how the teachers had looked away. 

Mathilda hadn’t returned. No one spoke of her. She was another unmentioned secret. 

Don’t tell Vernon he makes crayons fly, don’t mention the purple marks and never say the name Mathilda Durren. 

But Harry was a child. And he was curious, so one day he approached Petunia and asked. In his mind the answer was better than any punishment he may get for asking.

He waited patiently after washing up dinner for his Aunt to come to the kitchen and make the after dinner coffee (he wasn’t allowed anymore, once he had spilled it all down himself). 

Finally Petunia walked into the room. She was pale as usual and thin, the drab flowery dress she was wearing hung off her. 

“Aunt Petunia.” 

She turned to him, eyes sharp and mouth curled into a tight grimace, “what boy.” 

Harry swallowed and fiddled with the hem of his too large shirt, “Do I have a mum and dad?” 

Petunia looked a little shocked but then she glanced down at Harry, “not anymore.” 

Harry hesitated in his reply, not sure whether more questions would anger his aunt, “what happened to them?” 

Petunia huffed angrily at him, “there dead, they died in a car crash when you were younger.” 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows at that. Dead. What did that even mean. Of course he’d heard the word but he couldn’t quite comprehend it. “Are they going to come back?” He asked

“No.” Petunia snapped. “Your mother’s good for nothing husband got her killed in a car crash. Now go to your cupboard.” 

“Why did he-,” Harry began. 

“I said go!” Barked Petunia. She grabbed his arm and hauled him down the hall and into the small space. 

Harry heard the click of the lock ten seconds later. He winced. He hated the lock being shut. It meant he couldn’t go to the loo at night and he only got punished for having accidents. 

Harry sat down in his tiny bed. He mulled over what his aunt had said. So, Harry had had a mum and dad but they were dead. Because of his dad. He frowned at the thought. 

Maybe, like Vernon, some dads aren’t very nice. Maybe his dad was good-for-nothing and that’s why Harry lived in a cupboard and Dudley was allowed to punch him. Maybe that was all he was worth 

He doubted he could tell Vernon about this, it was another silent rule. 

Let Dudley punch you.

Don’t mention that you can make crayons fly to anyone. 

Don’t say the name Mathilda Durren at school. 

Don’t talk about the bruises on Petunias' wrists. Especially not to Vernon. 

And Harry has a mum and dad but they were dead, which meant they weren’t coming back, and it was because of his dad. 

Harry learnt about death when he was five, he learnt about secrets when he was much younger. Six years later he learnt about lies, and he felt betrayal.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think?


End file.
